


Approval

by Qzeebrella



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qzeebrella/pseuds/Qzeebrella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm's relationship with his father has had a profound influence on his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Approval

Malcolm never knew his father. This in spite of seeing him fairly often throughout his life. For though the visits were frequent, he never was allowed to get to know the man he called father.

Father would come home two or three times a year for a few days or a couple of weeks at a time. Malcolm would see him stride purposefully up the walk and ring the ship’s bell to alert the house. Then the family would gather in the rotunda, by the front door, to watch as father strode towards them in his immaculately pressed uniform, looking very much the picture of the perfect officer and gentleman. Father would reach them, kiss mum’s cheek and ruffle Maddy’s hair with his right hand and favour her with a smile. Then he would turn to Malcolm and look down upon him, like an officer faced with the lowliest recruit.

“Report!” He’d bark.

“All safe and accounted for, sir.”

“Everything is in order?”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” (Or Commander, or Captain as was appropriate.)

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

His father would then turn his back on Malcolm and enter the house, with Malcolm marching behind him, as was expected. Father would head directly to Malcolm’s room where he’d put it through a white glove inspection and no matter how hard Malcolm would try to get the room spotlessly clean and militarily precise, it was never enough. His father would find some small fault and turn to him with a shake of his head and a frown. His father would look right into his eyes, the disapproval obvious. 

“Pathetic.”

Malcolm always knew his father meant him and not the room.

“You can consider yourself on report and under restrictions.”

“Yes, sir.” Malcolm would always reply, knowing this meant stay in your room except for afternoon tea and the formal dinner party that would occur the night before father was to go back to sea.

At the party he would see father across the room talking to one Navy man or another. He would be called over and he would do his best to conduct himself in an exemplary fashion, but though the other officers would praise him, he could always tell it wasn’t enough in his father’s eyes. 

An eternal time later, his father would take him aside at the party. “Dismissed. Stand ready.”

Malcolm would then go back to his room and stand ready just inside the door. Feet slightly apart, hands behind his back, and eyes front. He would stay there until his father came, no matter how long it took for his father to get there. Father would then look him up and down with contempt. “I expected better from you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I had better see an improvement next time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lights out then.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Then his father would leave his room. Malcolm would then get into his pajamas and into bed. He’d rescue Mr. Wiggles, his teddy bear, from his hiding spot and cling to him throughout the night and wonder just what he needed to do to earn approval from this stranger he called father.

The next day, when father was about to leave to go back to the navy, the family would gather in the rotunda again. Father would walk purposefully to them, kiss mum’s cheek for the second time, ruffle Maddy’s hair with his right hand and favour her with a smile. Then he would turn to Malcolm and look down upon him, meet his eyes and his parting words were always the same.

“You disappointed me on this visit.” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Next time I expect your conduct and appearance to be befitting a Reed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep your mother and sister safe and follow all the regulations I gave you.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Then his father would turn on his heal and walk purposefully away. Not to be seen for months.

Each and every visit was the same. His father never saying anything to him outside of that limited script, never letting Malcolm get to know him and never, ever showing any sign of approval or even acceptance of his son. So, Malcolm never knew his father, but his father had a profound influence over his life.

Even when his father was nowhere nearby Malcolm was driven to follow all the strictures of the set of regulations his father set out for him. Keep your room and physical appearance immaculate at all times. Do not collect or display frivolous possessions, everything you have must serve a purpose. Conduct yourself as an officer and gentleman, so that your every action and each word is above reproach. Do not fraternize with superior officers. Never show weakness. Never slouch or saunter or just hang about. Always be involved in useful activity. Never expect praise or encouragement. And, no matter how scrupulously you follow the rules, know that you will always fail. For your best effort will never be enough and you will always be pathetic.

This soul deep knowledge was reinforced throughout his life by other male role models. Such as his head of house at the boarding school he was sent to, his Scout master, the officers he met while in Naval cadet training, his line officers there, and Harris of Section 31. All of them expected him to adhere to the highest standards and when he was unable to achieve them, their displeasure and disappointment was made obvious. Yet he always kept striving, longing for some sign of approval, craving praise - or at the very least - acceptance, and vainly hoping for some sign that he had managed to please the latest man to have authority over him.

He had nearly given up hope of ever managing to please someone with his conduct when he received word that he would be the head of the armoury and tactical officers on Enterprise when she launched. It was a great honour and he was suitably humbled upon receiving it. He had reported to duty and knuckled down to work. He strived for perfection, expecting Archer to be like all the other men he had ever served under and all his expectations were blown out of the water.

Malcolm had been shocked by Captain Archer’s casual demeanour, by how relaxed he was, and by how open and friendly he seemed. The Captain’s casualness made Malcolm feel threatened for reasons he could not explain. Though he thought it might be due to the fact that he had no idea how to conduct himself around such an officer. He had no basis to fall back on as to how to relate to such a man and it had confused him desperately. He reacted to this uncertainty by withdrawing into himself as much as possible, pulled all his defences around himself, and retreated into formality in an effort to keep the all too familiar man at a distance.

This, of course, had not worked at all for the man was persistent. Besetting him constantly with words and actions that seemed designed to breach the barriers Malcolm had erected around himself. For the first time in his life, Malcolm was faced with a male authority figure who seemed to be truly interested in getting to know him better and this terrified him. He did his best to deter the man through treating him with formality and the utmost respect. Except when the man was getting too close, then he would add a hint of disdain and barely hidden anger in an attempt to push the man away. But it never worked. The man kept after him, kept trying to draw closer to him, kept trying to get him to treat him as just a man, instead of a captain.

Added to all of that was the fact that Malcolm was finally getting the sort of praise and approval that he had longed for all of his life, but had no idea how to react to. He was getting to hear, “Well done” often. He was getting pats on his back, his upper arm squeezed gently, a grateful nod, and he was favoured with smiles on a nearly daily basis by the man he served under. Yet he was always on edge. Always waiting for the Captain to bark, “Report” at him. Always waiting for the captain to conduct a white glove inspection of his austere quarters where Mr. Wiggles was carefully hidden, and never getting one. (Except in a rather naughty dream involving him, the captain and a pair of white gloves.)

Everything the Captain did unsettled and confused him. Malcolm just had no idea how to react to such familiarity and he knew that the defences he had built in an attempt to protect himself from caring for the man would fail. It was only a matter of time and Malcolm dreaded their inevitable failure for he had no idea as to what would happen to him after his defences collapsed. No idea at all and that terrified him.

Shortly after Jon rescued him from the hull, Malcolm’s defences shattered into tiny pieces all around him, leaving him exposed and defenceless. Leaving him frightened and in shock. Leaving him vulnerable to attack and expecting the Captain to take advantage of that fact. He started to tremble in fear. He had clenched his fists tight and lowered his eyes to the ground, afraid of what the Captain might do.

“Malcolm?”

He looked up into concerned green eyes and gasped. He swallowed hard and breathed in, overwhelmed with emotion upon seeing the intensity of Jon’s eyes. Exquisite joy surged through his heart and soul at the sense of freedom he felt and he immediately immersed himself in it. He allowed himself to drink deeply of it. He even allowed himself to smile.

The concern in those sea green eyes melted away into acceptance. An acceptance Malcolm allowed to wash over him. An acceptance that washed the remnants of his barriers away. He drank it in, even as it began to change.

Those green eyes swept over him relentlessly. One capable hand reached out and cupped his chin. Two lips pressed against his own and he opened his mouth to allow Jon access and he drowned in the love he found there.


End file.
